


The Journey North

by altargaryen



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-02-16 03:23:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 19,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13045473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/altargaryen/pseuds/altargaryen
Summary: As they approach White Harbor, Jon and Daenerys are forced to play politics, Tyrion tries to advise through experience, and reunions take an unexpected turn.A take on The first few episodes of Season 8.





	1. Daenerys I

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic, written how I imagine the first episode of season 8 playing out. The chapters are fairly short, written as scenes would be rather than full blown chapters.
> 
> I hope you enjoy.

Her eyes fluttered open as she felt his chest rise and fall on her cheek. She lifted her eyes to look at him, his face as peaceful as she could imagine it had ever been.

He was not a man of many words, but his eyes told her all she needed to know. Love comes in at the eyes, Khaleesi. Last night that had certainly been the case.

They were heading into the most dangerous battle they had ever faced, and yet for the first time in a many years, Daenerys did not feel alone. She could not admit it to anyone else, nor would she. But laying here in Jon Snow's arms made her feel hopeful. Hopeful for the wars to come and for a future beyond them.

She leaned up to look at him. Her movement caused him to stir, and he slowly opened his eyes to meet hers.

"Good morning your grace" his voice was gruff from sleep. A soft smile appeared on his mouth as he stretched up to her level, caressing her cheek lightly.

She raised her hand to meet his. "Your grace." She laughed lightly. "And here I thought you were growing too comfortable."

"Only as comfortable as my queen allows." He smiled as he kissed her.

He was teasing her. Jon Snow was not hers to command, nor did she want to. He was as much a king as anyone she had known. She felt a twinge of guilt for taking that away from him.

She pressed her forehead to his, impressing on him the impact he had already made.  "Thank you" she said. He lifted her chin so as to meet his eyes.

"No. Thank you." He brushed her hair from her face, gazing longingly into her violet eyes. "I wouldn't be here if not for you. And we would stand no chance in this war."

Her gaze dropped to the scars on his chest. "Jon..."

There was a knock on the door. "Your grace, are you awake?" It was Missandei.

Jon's head shot around, clearly unsure what he should do. "Regretfully." The queen replied, smirking at her lover. "But I would gladly take a few more minutes rest."

"Of course, your grace" Missandei replied. They heard her steps as she left them.

"I suppose that means it is time to leave." Jon said as he moved to the edge of the bed to stand.

"I suppose it does." She replied, watching him. His muscles flexed as he rose away from her, his perfect sculpted form like art. He walked over to the other side of the bed and offered her his hand. She took it and he pulled her into his embrace.

"I don't imagine we should discuss this with anyone." He said, grabbing her robe to drape over her.

"No." She answered, running her hands along the jagged scar over his heart. There were so many questions she wanted to ask him. So many things yet unsaid.  "But I will allow you to return tonight."

He smiled as he kissed her forehead. "Whatever my queen commands." He whispered.


	2. Tyrion I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was not a chapter I am super proud of, and I want to clarify that I do believe Tyrion likes them together, he just also sees a lot of potential problems in the near future.

Tyrion entered the map room to find Daenerys still in front of the fire. He was somewhat surprised to see her sitting there alone, but he was pleased that he could speak to her in private.

“Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all." She responded. He sensed she was at ease. A welcome change from the tense exchanges that had become the norm between the two in recent weeks.

Of course, he knew why she was relaxed this morning. It was the same reason he was not. He had stayed up most of the night worrying about the implications of her tryst with the King in the North. What it could mean for them as well as for him.

He grabbed a goblet and filled it with wine before sitting next to his Queen.

"You seem happy this morning. Restful sleep?"

"Yes." Her mind was clearly elsewhere.

He took a long sip of wine and looked into the fire. "I once told you that if you didn't kill me, I would tell you why I killed my father."

She turned, her attention now on him. "You did."

"Now seems as good a time as any."

Daenerys reached down for her own goblet and filled it with wine. "Alright."

He stared into his wine as he began. "My father hated me from the moment I was born. The little monster that killed his beloved wife." He drank deeply. "To top it off, my penchant for wine and women disgraced the good family name. He had done many things to try and break my habits, even having a whore marry me only to tear her away. But then I met Shae. She was a whore too of course, but she stayed with me even after I stopped paying her.  She came with me to King's Landing and served as Sansa Stark's hand maid as a cover. I loved her, and I believed she loved me too. I did my best to keep her hidden from my father and sister. It was going rather well too. Until my father decided that I had to marry the poor Stark girl."

Daenerys shifted slightly. He realized she had not known about his "marriage" to Jon's sister. It was likely not the type of thing that would be talked about in the throws of passion, and he had never felt it relevant enough to divulge to her.

"Sansa was very beautiful. She had come to King's Landing with her lord father and was to marry Joffery once she was old enough to bear him children. My nephew loved torturing her and my sister did nothing to stop him. I suppose forcing her to marry the imp was one of the least cruel things my family did to her. I told her I would not touch her unless she wanted me to, and of course, at 14, she absolutely did not." He smiled sadly at Daenerys. She had not been so lucky when she had been sold to Khal Drogo all those years ago.

"I tried to do right by her. But the situation with Shae grew complicated. Shae loved Sansa. She would've killed for her she said. But I grew distant from her, worrying she would be caught and killed and not wanting to disrespect my new wife. Varys tried to convince her to leave, offering her gold and a comfortable life is Pentos. But she was stubborn." He looked at his Queen. "I must be drawn to stubborn women."

She offered him a soft smile.

"She continued to insist she would not leave me. She would fight whomever tried to come between us. When I learned that my sister had discovered her, I told Shae I never loved her. That she was nothing but a whore and that I only loved my wife. Of course this was a lie, but I was desperate to save her. At Joffery's wedding I was assured that she had boarded the ship and was safely on her way across the Narrow Sea."

Tyrion finished his wine and reached out for more. Daenerys beat him to it. He thought she was cutting him off already, not wanting to hear more. Instead she lifted the wine and poured it into his cup. He nodded in thanks.

"You know, of course, what happened next." He said as he moved the goblet back to his lips. "My sister accused me of killing her bastard son, and I stood trial. My brother told me to keep my mouth shut and my father would be merciful and allow me to take the black and join the Night's Watch. I would've been useless up there, but I intended to keep my life rather than let Cersei mutilate me for a crime I did not commit. But then..." He paused. The memory felt so fresh for him. He had been blocking it out for so long and yet here it was. Like he was living it over again. "Then she took the stand."

"Who?" Daenerys sat forward.

"Shae." He half whispered. "She told them lies. That I had promised Sansa I would kill Joffrey as revenge for what he did to her father and brother. That I had planned the whole thing with her so that I could get into her bed. I couldn't take it. I hated my father in that moment more than I've ever hated anyone in my life. And I wanted to ruin him. I was his effective heir after all, with Jaime a sworn member of the King's Guard. So I demanded a trial by combat. Prince Oberyn of Dorne stood as my champion. He wanted revenge against the Mountain for killing his sister Elia and her children with your brother, Rhaegar. He should have won, but instead of finishing the Mountain when he had him down, he taunted him, insisting he admit what he had done and who had ordered him to do it. And so, the Mountain crushed his skull in, and I was doomed to die."

"But you escaped?" Daenerys finished her own glass and leaned forward for more. 

"My brother set me free." Tyrion smiled to himself. "The only true family I ever had. He set me free and told me Varys had booked me passage to Pentos. We bid farewell and I was set to sail to safety." He stood up and walked to the fire, staring into its depths. "But I couldn't leave. Not without confronting my father. The man who would've killed his own son for no reason other than his being born a dwarf. So I went to the Tower of the Hand, and when I entered his chambers I saw her laying in his bed. She called his name and said 'my lion'." He chuckled pitifully. "That was what she had called me you see. When she saw that it was not my father, but instead his monstrous imp of a son, she reached for a knife." Tyrion felt as if he would be sick, his throat heavy. "I choked her." He held back tears, but his voice betrayed him. "I killed the woman I loved with my bare hands."

He turned back to the fire, composing himself. "And then I killed my father.” His voice filled with hate. “Two arrows to the heart while he sat on a privy. What a way for the great Tywin Lannister to go. Poetic really."

He finished his drink before she spoke. "I'm so sorry."

Tyrion sighed deeply. "We assume that our enemies are our greatest threat, but they are not." He turned to look at this queen. "Only those we love can truly destroy us."

Daenerys looked away from him and into the fire.

"Do not let yourself be blind to it."


	3. Jon I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to get this story started with a few chapters. If you all enjoy, I will keep writing.

The night was cold, but the wind blowing against his face was familiar, comforting in a way. It was to be their last night on this ship. Tomorrow they would arrive in White Harbor and the realities of the war to come would return.

He longed to see Arya again. And Bran and Sansa too. But a part of him wished he could stay on this ship forever.

They had spent each day for a fortnight planning their route to Winterfell, accounting for all outcomes so as to avoid unwelcome surprises. And at night he was with her. Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. His Queen.

Each night was different. They would stay up for hours mixing pleasure with stories of their pasts.

He preferred to listen to her grand stories of conquest, but she wanted to know about the his family and his childhood and the North.

"I never had a family." She had looked away as she said this. "All I ever knew was my brother. And he beat me and sold me like a slave."

Jon caressed her jawbone. He hated hearing about her suffering, but it made him admire her even more. Her strength reminded him of Sansa. It also pained him to talk about his family, although for very different reasons. "We should talk about something else."

"No." She insisted, turning back to him with fierce eyes. "I want to know what it is like to have a real family. And I want to know who it is that I will be meeting."

And so he told her.

On the second night he visited, she had again asked about his scars.

"You took a knife in the heart for your people." She said, running her hands along the jagged skin. "Not a metaphor after all."

"No." He replied

"But I don't understand." She pressed on. "I've seen men die from lesser wounds than these. And yet you are alive."

"Aye. Seems that I am." He smiled at her, hoping she would laugh with him, but his Queen was not in a joking mood.

"How?" Her brow furrowed deeply.

He sighed deeply. There was no more avoiding it. He had to tell her the truth.

"When I was Lord Commander of the Nights Watch, I went beyond the wall to Hardhome, where all of the surviving Wildlings had gathered. I intended to bring them south of the wall to safety. " His chest tensed as he recalled fog that rose up from the mountains, taking the living for its own. "Before we could get everyone on the ships to sail south, the Night King attacked." Her soft body tense up against his. He traced his fingers along her back and drew her closer. "I brought those who survived back to the wall and let them through, promising them land in exchange for their help when the time came."

He turned to look at Daenerys, her eyes wide in anticipation.

"My brothers did not like that I had made allies with the Wildlings. They saw them as our enemy. So one night they sent my steward, a young boy named Olly, to fetch me. Told me that my Uncle Benjen, who I thought had been lost beyond the wall, was alive and that one of the Wildlings knew where to find him. Instead I found a cross with the word traitor on it. Five of my brothers plunged knives into me. Olly dealt the last blow. This one here." Jon touched the scar over his heart. "Next thing I remember I was waking up naked on a table at Castle Black. A red priestess from Assahi had brought me back."

"A red priestess told me to summon you to Dragonstone." Daenerys whispered, her eyes drifted as her hands moved across his chest. "She said you had a role to play in the wars to come, as did I."

"I suppose she was right."

"I'm glad she brought you back Jon Snow." Daenerys met his gaze, violet and brown melding together, saying all the things that words could never adequately express.

Tonight he stood on the bow of the ship, looking out over the vast sea. For the first time, he was glad Melisandre brought him back too.

He heard her soft steps behind him before she spoke. "May I join you?

He nodded without turning around and felt her warmth as she rested her hand beside his.

"It's beautiful." He let his eyes drop to look at her. He knew she spoke of the the sea, but she may well have been speaking of herself. Her beauty shocked him every time he looked at her, like he was seeing her for the first time over and over again.

"Aye." He watched her stray curls billow against her cheek, her skin glowing in the darkness. He moved his hand over hers and wrapped her fingers in his own.

Daenerys moved in closer, turning until they were standing chest to chest, her face only inches away. They had never been so close outside of her quarters before. "Jon," her eyes bore into his, a whisper on her lips. "I love you."

A jolt of shock surged through him. Had he heard her right? No matter how he felt about her or how she seemed to feel about him, he had not expected her to say it. Not now. Not yet

"I..." he began.

"I want you to know that. I want you to know in case we..."

He lifted a finger to her lips to stop her from finishing. "I love you." Her eyes softened at his words. "And tonight I am with you. The war can wait until morning." He cradled her face in his hand as he pressed his lips against hers.

He did not care if someone saw them. He did not care about the Great War or the Night King or the army of the dead they were sailing to face. Tonight, he loved her. And she loved him. Nothing else mattered.


	4. Daenerys II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading everyone! I love these characters and this story so much, and I'm attempting to do it justice as best I can.
> 
> I am a ride or die Jonerys shipper, but I also know that everything won't be all sunshine and roses, so keep that in mind as you move ahead.

She stood in the same spot she had professed her love for Jon the night before. She was not sure what had possessed her to say it. Perhaps it had been the knowledge that it was their final night of safety. The last time she could be sure they would be together.

She had known she loved him for quite some time. She had loved him before she could even admit it to herself. Her feelings for him were distinctly different than the love she had for her late husband. It was a foreign feeling for her, and yet she felt unable to hold it in last night. She needed him to know. She needed to know if he felt the same.

Their love making had evolved since their first night together, but last night was the most passionate of them all. They did not speak, letting their eyes and moans speak for them. It was a desperate kind of love, neither wanting to let go of the other, afraid it would be the last time.

And for all she knew, it had been. She stared ahead, the city of White Harbor appearing over the horizon. The North was unknown, as were the threats they faced as they traversed its snowy landscape. _Jorah was right. I should have flown to Winterfell._

They had a plan. In fact, they had many plans. It seemed they had done little else during the days on this ship. Hours were spent mulling over the map of the North, planning their route and any diversions that may be necessary.

It had been determined that Daenerys would need to acquire northern clothing so that she would be better able to blend in. She was also to stay by Jon's side at all times. Even Jorah had agreed that she would be safest under the direct protection of the King in the North. They were not to tell anyone that he had ceded the North to her until they reached Winterfell. Anyone who addressed him as King would not be corrected. 

This had upset Jon far more than Daenerys. It had even been her suggestion. Jon wanted her to sail with him to send a message that they were allies. It was essential that this was the message they sent to the Northerners. This meant that Jon would need to appear as her equal, and therefore, a king.

But Jon was honorable to a fault. He believed that his pledge to her did not need to be kept a secret. And his sister may have already spread the word that he had bent the knee.

Tyrion spoke highly of Sansa Stark, the girl he had once been forced to marry. But what he remembered of her was not the same as the woman Jon described.  _If she's as stubborn as he is, this will be far more difficult than we hoped._

"Your grace" It was Ser Jorah. "We will be going ashore shortly."

She nodded in acknowledgement without turning around.

He did not leave, but moved to stand beside her. "I once called the North home, your grace. It is a harsh land, but beautiful in it's own way."

She looked up at her oldest friend. He had barely spoken to her during their travels. "I know very little of the North." She said. "But the Northerners I know are some of the most brave and honorable men I have ever met."

She turned to him, taking his hands in hers. "I am glad to see you home again."

She could sense the longing in his eyes for a moment, but then something changed. He stood taller, his face growing soft. "He is a good man. He will do right by you."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes you do." He smiled lightly. His eyes left hers and landed upon Jon, standing across the ship preparing the boat to go ashore. She followed his gaze for a moment before turning back to him.

"Ser Jorah..."

"I have loved you for a long time, my queen. I will always love you." He returned his gaze to hers. "You deserve a man like Jon Snow."

Daenerys held back a tear as she looked into Jorah's eyes. He had been her longest and most devoted companion and he knew her better than anyone else. His blessing was the hardest to obtain and also the one that meant the most.

"Thank you." She reached out and caressed his face. "Thank you for everything." She leaned forward and kissed him lightly.

He stood frozen for a moment, likely shocked that she had kissed him, before stepping back. "You saved me, your grace. It is you who deserves thanks." He bowed deeply, kissing her hands and then stepped away.

Jon approached then, flanked by Tyrion, Missandei, and Ser Davos. Daenerys caught Jon and Jorah exchange a look before Jon turned to her.

"It is time, your grace." Jon said, offering his hand.

Their respective advisers followed behind them as Daenerys and Jon walked side by the side. Jon helped her into the boat, then Missandei. He took one last look at the deck of the ship before climbing in and giving the order that they be lowered to the sea.

Jon sat at the front of the boat, away from her. He would be the first face that the ship master of White Harbor would see. As hard as they had tried to be discrete about their nightly meetings, all of their advisors seemed to know. This could not be the case as they traveled North. Their nights of passion in the safe halls of the ship were now behind them. It was time for war.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

They were greeted by a tall man with broad shoulders and a long beard dyed green. He announced himself as the ship master. "Welcome back, your grace." He said as he bowed to Jon.

"Thank you." Daenerys heard Jon say. "We will need more boats to bring the unsullied to shore. The quicker the better."

"Of course your grace." The ship master bowed again and began yelling at the men on the docks to get to work.

Jon turned back and nodded at them to begin unloading.

"It is bigger than I expected." Missandei stood beside her, watching the men empty their boat.

"It is the biggest city in the North." She said matter of factly. Jon had given her a brief history of the North one night. House Manderly was the richest northern house and White Harbor belonged to them.

Daenerys could feel the glares of the northern men bear down upon her as they carried the boats to the water. They did not want her there. They did not trust her.

"Do not be afraid, your grace." Missandei smiled at her knowingly before looking toward Jon and the others. "He will protect you. As will we all."

Daenerys took Missandei's hand and squeezed it lightly as Tyrion walked toward them.

"Your Grace," He said. "We are ready."

She nodded at her Hand and walked toward Jon and the others.

As she approached them, another huddle of northerners marched toward them down the docks. At the front was a young woman flanked by what looked to be a household guard. They dressed in blue-green wool and carried silver tridents instead of spears.

As they approached Daenerys was able to get a better look at the woman leading them. The girl's face was long, but pretty, accentuated by a long braid that she had dyed green. Dany guessed she was no older than 18.

The contingent stopped before them and the young woman dropped into a deep curtsy. "My king. It is my honor to welcome you back to White Harbor. I hope you plan to stay a bit longer this time." She smiled brightly at Jon. Daenerys felt her blood pressure rise. She did not like the way this girl was looking at him. She walked forward to stand beside Jon.

"Lady Wylla." Jon said. "This is Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen. Your Grace, this is Lady Wylla of House Manderly."

"Your Grace." Wylla hardened as she turned to curtsy again. "Welcome to White Harbor." It was clear that Wylla shared her people's distrust. They were not off to a strong start.

Jon appeared to sense the tension and reclaimed Wylla's attention. "M’lady, we are very grateful for your invitation but we..."

Daenerys cut him off. "We would be grateful for your hospitality, my Lady. It has been a long journey. My men could use a good meal." Jon looked at her questioningly . She did not look away from Wylla Manderly

Wylla smirked slightly, turning to answer to Jon instead of Daenerys. "Wonderful. My sister will be glad to hear it." She turned back to her contingent. "Off we get then. It's not getting any warmer. Let's get our guests inside."

Jon exchanged a brief glance with Daenerys and then walked ahead. Wylla dropped back to walk beside him, cutting Daenerys off and leaving her to walk behind them.

She clenched her hands into fists as she fell back. It took everything in her power to reign back her anger at this disrespect. It was her duty to make a good impression on as many Northerners as possible, but Wylla Manderly was already trying her patience.

Missandei walked up beside her and grabbed her hand, shooting her a knowing glance. She took a deep breath and composed herself, following the bold young lady toward the white castle that was visible on the hill.


	5. Jon II

Wylla Manderly was very talkative, far more so than he remembered from their childhood meeting. Both Wynafred and Wylla had been infatuated with Robb, as had most of the girls they encountered. Jon had always been jealous of Robb's effortlessness around them. Now, however, she seemed to have laid her sights upon him.

"Tell me about Dragonstone, your grace." Wylla walked closer to him. "And the dragons. Have you seen them?"

"Aye, I have."

"What were they like?"

"Terrifying." He caught a glimpse of Daenerys out of the corner of his eye. "But beautiful."

"She didn't bring them with her?" Wylla spun her head around and looked back at Daenerys.

"They are not far." He assumed that was true. He did not actually know where they were or how they would find their mother. Of all the questions he had asked Daenerys over the past weeks, this seemed like an important one he had neglected.

At that Wylla brushed her arm against his. "I've always wanted to see a dragon. And a direwolf. My grandfather says you have one of those at Winterfell as well."

"Aye." Jon was uncomfortable with the physical contact between them. He knew Daenerys would be seething behind them. "Ghost."

"Maybe I'll get to meet him someday too." Her eyes seemed to light up at the thought, but Jon was distracted by the ancient and imposing building they were approaching.

"The Wolf's Den" Wylla said. "This was my family's home in the beginning. Now it is a prison."

He paused to admire the beautiful old building. He knew the story. The Starks had allowed the Manderly's to seek refuge after they were exiled from the Reach. They left the Wolf's Den and White Harbor in their care in exchange for fealty.

Wylla walked ahead toward a white street that led from the Wolf's Den up toward the new home that the Manderly's had constructed: New Castle.

New Castle was less intimidating than it was majestic. It was extravagant as far as the north was concerned. The white stone towers were adorned with the Merman sigil of their house. The castle looked out over both harbors it oversaw. It was a stunning view, even in the fog.

They followed Wylla and her guard through the massive wooden doors of the castle and into a large hall. He had heard of the Merman's Court as a child, but the stories had not done the room justice.

The room was covered entirely of wood with carvings and paintings of all the seas many creatures locked in battles with water, men, and each other.

Jon came to a stop before the dias and Daenerys walked up to stand beside him once again. Lady Wylla continued up the wooden steps to a large cushioned chair where another young women sat.

"Your graces." Wylla stood beside the woman. "May I present my sister, Lady Wynafred Manderly, acting lady of White Harbor."

Wynafred stood then. She was shorter than her sister, with long brown hair that remained its natural color. She was not as pretty as her wild sister, but she held herself with the same strength. "Welcome to White Harbor." She dipped into a curtsy. "It is my honor to welcome you in my grandfather's place. I hope you will find New Castle to your liking."

"We are very grateful for your hospitality Lady Manderly." Jon stepped forward. "And your rule while Lord Wyman is at Winterfell."

"It has always been our honor to serve House Stark. We do not forget the kindness your ancestors bestowed upon ours." Wynafred smiled at him.

He turned to Daenerys. "M'lady, may I present Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen."

Daenerys stepped forward. "It is an honor to meet you my lady."

Wynafred's mouth twitched slightly at this introduction. "What a wonder to meet a Targaryen." She said as she looked Daenerys up and down. It was not a warm introduction, but Jon had expected worse. "I hope you will all join us this evening for a feast in your honor before you get on your way. We have drawn baths for all of you in your chambers."

"Thank you m'lady." Jon nodded his approval as the Manderly guard approached to show them the way.

As Jon turned to follow, Wynafred called for him. “My King, a moment?”

He met Davos’s eyes for a moment before turning back to the sisters. They were both walking down from the dias to stand before him.

Wynafred waited until Daenerys’s party was gone before she began. “Forgive my frankness, your grace, but I️ have to ask. What are you doing bringing a Targaryen here?

He took a deep breath before he spoke, trying to think of the most diplomatic answer. Tyrion would’ve known how to handle this, but the Manderlys’ were Northerners. He could not persuade them to accept her on his word alone. They would need to know her. “The Queen has offered her armies and her dragons in the fight against the dead.”

“And what, might I️ ask, did those armies and dragons cost?”

He shifted uncomfortably. He could not tell them the truth. But what else would they believe? “The Queen saw the army of the dead for herself north of the Wall. She understands the threat we all face.”

“What was she doing north of the Wall?” This time it was Wylla who spoke.

Jon hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. “A group of us went North to bring back one of the dead men to convince Cersei. She came to rescue us.”

Wynafred And Wylla exchanged a glance. He could tell his answer had not satisfied them.

“My grandfather expressed your concern over this army of the dead in his letters. It all sounds like a ghost story to me.”

“Aye, it does. But I assure you, the army of the dead is real and they are coming. We need Daener..” he caught himself, “..the queen’s men and her dragons if we are to stand a chance against them.”

Wynafred pondered what he had said for a moment. “So you trust her then?”

“Aye, I️ do.”

Wynafred turned to face her sister. “Then we have no choice but to take your word for it. I️ do not like that she is here. But if you feel she is our best chance against this army of the dead, then so be it.”

Jon sighed in relief.

“I’m sure you are very tired, your grace. We will have our men escort you to your room.”

“Thank you.” Jon turned to leave before remembering that he had one last request. “Wait.”

“Yes, my king?”

“The queen is in need of something. A disguise so she will blend in on the road.”

Wylla spit out a harsh laugh before being silenced by a piercing glare from her sister.

“Of course, your grace. I will see what I can do.”

Jon nodded in thanks and then turned to follow the guards out of the court. He knew they were lucky to face Lord Wyman’s granddaughters instead of the Lord himself. If anyone would be obliging to a southern queen, It would be the Manderly’s. The rest of the North would not accept his word so easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter takes a new turn to another character’s journey. 
> 
> Thank you for the support so far. I’ve been working on this story for a while and finally decided to post it here after enjoying all of the other great stories everyone else has been writing. I expect I will be slowly down the rate at which I post in the coming days, but I have more coming.


	6. Jaime I

“More ale Ser?”

The serving boy was fat, but that was about as much as Jaime had bothered to take note of. He sat alone, in the farthest corner of the inn, doing his best not to be seen. “No, thank you.”

“Suit yourself.” The fat boy waddled away and Jaime sank back further into his chair.

He had seen Harrenhal from afar that day and now found himself at the crossroads. _I could still turn back. Cersei might forgive me._

No. He knew that was not true. The moment he decided to leave her it was final. He had to go forward.

It was the first time he had risked staying in an inn along the way, but the smell of roasting meat had been too strong to resist.

The innkeeper was an older women with a blood red smile that deeply unsettled him, but her cooking made up for it and he had not been given a second glance in the crowded common area.

Jaime finished his last swing of ale and rose from his corner leaving behind a few coppers to pay for his supper, the lure of a feather bed calling him upstairs.

He crossed the room slowly, careful not to make eye contact with any of the other guests as he slid between the benches.

“Ay!” A man yell just in front of him. He looked up, certain that he had been recognized.

“What’s a man with a face like yours doing in a place like this?” The man was clearly drunk, but that did not quell the fear in Jaime’s chest. Every man, woman, and child in the room was now looking at him.

“You belong in the brothel down the way. Prettier face than all the women they got combined.” The man stumbled his way off the bench, patting Jaimie on the face as he toppled into him. Jaime caught him, careful not to indicate the loss of his right hand.

A girl jumped up then to grab the man, apologizing profusely. “I’m so sorry Ser. My father is a nasty drunk. Always has been.”

“Not to worry.” Jaime smiled at her. “I’ve seen worse.”

The girl smiled back at him, blushing as she draped her father over her arm and guided him back to his seat, collapsing down with him as he passed out.

Heads began to turn back around as Jaime finally made his way to the safety of the stairwell, thanking the gods that he had escaped unnoticed.

He had made it up one flight and was taking his turn up the next when he heard a voice calling after him. It was unmistakeable. “You fooking cunt.”

Jaime spun around to Bronn waiting at the bottom of the landing, resting on the hilt of his sword. “You didn’t think I would let you walk away without giving me what I’m owed did ya?” Bronn climbed the stairs to meet him, his face pulling into his irritatingly smug smirk.

“Ser Bronn.” Jaime tilted his head. “I knew Cersei would send men after me. I didn’t expect that you would be one of them.”

Bronn laughed. “Piss on that. Cersei didn’t send me, although you are right about the others. I killed a few good Lannisters on my way here.” Bronn sauntered past him on the steps. “No. The way I see it, you still owe me, and I know if you lose your head, I can still count on your brother to pay your debts. I wasn’t letting both of you go North to your deaths without getting my dues.”

“So you’re not here to kill me?”

“Nah. Not yet anyway. But I will take your bed.” Bronn continued up the stairs, but Jaime hesitated. Once he hit the top of the stairs, Bronn turned and called back down. “What now? Golden hand still weighing you down? If you stay out here any longer, your sister’s men will find you and I’ve done all the killing I care to do today.”

Jaime spun around then and followed. He had to admit he was relieved to see Bronn. And even more relieved to have trusted company for the rest of journey North.

“You’re not getting my bed.” Jaime said, nudging past him.

“Suit yourself. I’m sure one the lovely ladies up the street won’t mind a companion for the night. Might as well get it in while I still can. I don’t imagine I’ll have too much luck with Lady Lannister or the Dragon Queen once we get North”

Jaime smiled at the thought of his brother reuniting with Sansa Stark again. That was a reunion he would’ve enjoyed witnessing.

“I can’t say you will.”

“You’ll find me at the brothel in the morning then. Hell, I’ll even cover one for you if you’re up to It. Although I can’t imagine every woman will be as fond of that golden hand as your sister.”

Jaime glared at him, his anger and despair mixed into one. “Enough.”

“Yes m’lord.” Bronn bowed, knowing he had crossed a line, and then sauntered back down the stairwell. “You know where to find me.”

Jaime stood for a moment before making his way up to his room, exhaustion slapping him across the face. He would find sleep easily that night, but dreams of dragons kept him from peace yet again, and he woke no more rested than he had felt the night before.


	7. Daenerys III

The Merman's Court, as Ser Davos had told her it was called, had been transformed for the banquet. What had been an empty and imposing room when they'd arrived was now filled with long tables and decorated in blue-green finery. It felt almost welcoming. Almost.

Wynafred sat in the center of a great table. She stood to greet them and gestured that they should join her on either side. Wylla had positioned herself so that there was one seat between herself and her sister, clearly intended for the King of the North.

The hall filled quickly with merchants and friends of the Manderlys. Wynafred stood and the court fell silent. "It is with great pleasure that we welcome the King in the North and Queen Daenerys Targaryen to White Harbor." She looked at each of them as they were announced. Grumbles filled the hall at the mention of a Targaryen. Wynafred cleared her throat loudly, silencing the whispers. "House Stark's words serve as a constant warning, and now Winter is here. Whatever hardships come with it, we will face together and we are grateful for the Queen's support." She was a far better tactician than her sister. That much was clear. Daenerys nodded dutifully, thankful that Lady Manderly was being outwardly supportive, even if she privately shared her men's concerns.

At that Wynafred raised her arms and servants began to fill the hall, bringing with them food and wine. "In the mean time, we will celebrate. One last feast to garner in the long winter ahead." She raised her glass in a toast and turned to Jon. "To the North"

"To the North" the hall erupted in unison.

Daenerys raised her glass and drank deeply. She saw Tyrion give her a concerned glance out of the corner of her eye, but she ignored him. Of all people, he was in no position to judge her for drinking.

It was a strange sight. She had never experienced a Westerosi feast before. It felt wrong to be celebrating in a time of such uncertainty. Then again, perhaps there is no better time. She glanced over at Jon, hoping she was not alone in her discomfort, but her heart sank instead.

He was engaged in conversation with Wylla Manderly, who was laughing heartily at something he had said. He turned to thank the servant who was delivering plates of food in front of them and she saw a wide smile across his face.   
Of course he's comfortable. He's with his people. I am the foreigner, the stranger.

She looked down at the beautiful silver platters food set down in front of her. Any other day she would've seen plates of crab, lobster, and other assorted sea delicacies and devoured them. Tonight it was all she could do to keep the food down.

"So, your grace...” Wynafred turned her attention to Daenerys. “we have heard many stories about you."

"Have you?"

"Aye. But you won’t find many Northerners that will be comforted by your presence as a result of them."

"And what, might I ask, have you been told?"

Tyrion shifted uncomfortably beside her, but she again ignored him.

“They say that you crucified the masters of Slaver’s Bay. That you burn men alive when they displease you.” Wynafred took a bite of crab. “That you’re here to let your Dothraki rape and murder our children and loved ones.”

“I see.” Daenerys looked down at her plate, no longer able to look at her food without wanting to vomit. “And do you believe these... rumors?”

“You did not burn our king alive.” Wynafred smirked, grabbing a shrimp from a platter in front of her. “So I’ll take that as a start.”

Before Daenerys could respond, a guest approached, capturing Wynafred’s attention.

Daenerys found herself unable to resist looking back at Jon and Wylla. He still had a smile on his face as he enjoyed the food before him.

“She’s a logical match.” Tyrion finally spoke beside her, breaking her from her thoughts.

Daenerys glared down at him. “What are you talking about?”

“Wylla Manderly. Wynafred would be preferable as the oldest, of course. But I doubt old Wyman Manderly would care much which of his granddaughters it was.”

She felt ready to burst out in anger. She was furious with herself for being jealous, and more upset with Tyrion for using it against her.

“They are the richest northern house. They provide the most men. Securing that alliance with marriage means he would have an even stronger hold on the North.”

“Stop.” She said spat, reaching for her wine.

“Your grace,” he turned to look up at her, “marriage is seldom about love. Especially for the high-born...”

“You think I need to be reminded of that?” She nearly growled. “The foreign whore who was sold to the Khal in exchange for his army?”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” He paused for moment, stirring the cup in his hand. “You need not be jealous, my queen. Anyone with eyes can see how he feels about you.”

Daenerys straightened in her seat as Tyrion looked past her, motioning to Jon, who briefly stole a glance at her. Their eyes met for a moment and he looked to be silently asking if she was alright.

She quickly looked away and met Tyrion’s stare once again. He said nothing, but his face had formed a look of understanding and concern.

“I am feeling rather tired.” She said, turning back to Wynafred. “Would you excuse me for the night, my lady?”

Wynafred was taken aback by her sudden departure. “So soon?”

“Yes. Thank you for the meal.” Wynafred looked down at her plate of uneaten food and then nodded.

She nodded to her host and got up to leave. Missandei got up to follow. “Stay Missandei.” She insisted. “Stay with Grey Worm and enjoy this.”

“Your grace, I...”

Daenery touched her arm lightly and cut her off with a look.

“Yes your grace.” Missandei bowed her head and stepped away, allowing Daenerys to pass. Jon looked up at her, as if he was about to say something, but she did not look at him, nodding instead at Lady Wylla. The eyes of every man and women in the court were on her as she left. She was used to being looked up to, but their stares tonight left her feeling naked and exposed.

~~~~~~~~~

Her chambers were large and elaborate, the Manderly’s wealth clearly shown in the details and the decor. Despite her comfortable accommodations, she felt cold and alone.

She’s a logical match. Daenerys couldn’t shake Tyrion’s words from her mind. She was pacing, unable to calm herself enough to rest. I am the logical match.

She was appalled by her own behavior. She prided herself on her composure in the face those who sought to unseat her. But tonight she had cracked.

She had no idea how much time had passed since she had left the feast, but she knew she would not sleep. She wondered how far away Drogon and Rhaegal were. She longed to watch them, to see them fly over the city, showing the Northerners her strength. Wylla Manderly would never disrespect me again if she saw them.

There was a knock on her door, so unexpected it made her jump. She walked over to the door and pulled it open, expecting to see Missandei.

Instead, Jon stood before her, his face wrought with concern. “Are you alright?”   
He did not try to enter her room.

“I’m fine.” She snapped, moving to shut him out. He put his hand on the door to stop her.

“Please.” He whispered, his eyes desperately searching hers.

Daenerys spun around and walked away, leaving the door open for him to follow. He did so, closing it behind him.

“I...” He began.

“You shouldn’t be here.” She did not turn to look at him, her voice filled with anger.

“Aye, I know.”

“Then why are you?”

“Wynafred said you barely ate.” Jon started to move toward her.

She spun around, her eyes ablaze. She had last felt this way when Tyrion had brought up the succession. “And what did Lady Wylla have to say?”

Jon’s shoulders fell. “Is that what this is about?”

She turned away again, refusing to answer him. Jon looked utterly befuddled for a moment, unsure how to begin. Finally he turned to her and stood tall.

“I’ve never been good at politics. But I thought you would understand what I had to do here. What you need to do.” Daenerys could not face him. “If you want to rule over these people, you can’t run off like that. You can’t leave...”

“I know.” Her voice broke. “I know, Jon. I know.”

He closed the distance between them. She stood with her arms crossed, closing herself off from him, but he lifted his hand to push the hair out of her face. “Are you... jealous?” He half-smiled.

“Oh please.” She spat, turning away again.

“You are, aren’t you?” He wrapped his arms around her, kissing her shoulder.

She tried to push him away in embarrassment and frustration, but he held her closer, turning her so that she faced him.

“How could I have eyes for her when you’re in the room?”

Daenerys looked into his eyes for a long moment, her anger slipping away as she did. He was not teasing her anymore. He meant every word. She collapsed into him, her head resting against his chest as he pulled her closer, cradling her head in his hand. She relaxed slowly into his arms, the only place she felt truly at peace.

“You can’t stay” she whispered, looking up at his face.

“Because you don’t want me to, or because I shouldn’t?”

“You shouldn’t.” The space between their lips was impossibly small. His face was serious, but his caress was tender.

“Aye. I shouldn’t.” He lifted his eyes from her lips and parted from her. “Goodnight, your grace.”

He left a lingering kiss on her forehead and then turned to walk toward the door, making it most of the way before she called after him. “Jon...”

He stopped, turning back to face her. “Yes your grace?”

If her face was a reflection of her feelings, she must’ve looked distraught. She wanted him to stay. She needed him to stay. But it was too great a risk. She pulled herself together, drawing out as much strength as she could. “Sleep well.”

He nodded knowingly and exited her room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all are having a wonderful holiday season! This is the last chapter I have had finished, so it may be a while before I post again. But there is more, I promise.


	8. Tyrion II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! I apologize again for the delay on this chapter. 
> 
> A word of warning, in my attempt to write a story that could actually play out on the screen in 2019, there will be deaths in future.

Tyrion barely slept. He was certain that Jon had foolishly gone to her. If the Northerners even suspected what was transpiring between them, all of this was for naught.

At first light he rose, determined to make sure Jon Snow was not caught leaving the queens quarters by anyone but himself. He knew Daenerys would be furious, but he did not care.

His answer came before he even reached the queens room. As he brushed down the wide halls he saw Jon huddled with Ser Davos against a window.

“Lord Snow.” Tyrion called as he approached.

“Lord Tyrion.” Jon nodded to him.

“You’re up early.” He was surprised. Perhaps Jon had not stayed with the queen after all. But if that were true, and she had remained as upset as she was upon leaving the feast, they were in for an unpleasant morning.

“Aye.” Ser Davos chimed in. “He wasted no time waking me from my slumber. Damn near wanted to kill him. Bed was like sleeping on a cloud.”

“We can’t afford to waste any more time.” Jon looked tired, anxious even. There was little doubt that he had spent the night alone

“Well, I was just on my way to see the queen.” Tyrion looked to Jon knowingly. “Would you care to join me? Perhaps we can hasten our departure.”

Ser Davos and Jon exchanged a surprised glance before Tyrion cut in again. “Unless you had something more pressing to take care of before we leave?”

“No. I will join you.” Jon turned to follow Tyrion down the corridor. “Ser Davos, see to it that the men are prepared for our departure.”

Davos nodded to Jon and walked ahead of them, hurrying down a different corridor and out of earshot.

They walked in silence for a while before Tyrion looked up at Jon. “You did the right thing last night.”

“What are you talking about?” Jon scoffed at him, still looking ahead.

“With Lady Wylla. And with Daenerys. You’re playing the game now.”

“I’m not playing anything. I’m trying to keep the North together and keep my people safe.”

“Yes, but that will require you to do things that may not please your queen. I’m sure that much has already become clear.”

Jon did not answer him, continuing to walk in silence.

Tyrion stopped as he saw two unsullied guarding the queens door just down the way. “Jon.”

Jon stopped and turned to face Tyrion.

“I know you love her. I knew long before she did and probably before you did too. I know this is hard for you.” Jon looked down, standing away, but Tyrion walked closer. “Love in a time of war is dangerous. There is nothing any of us can do about that. She has sacrificed a great deal for her people before, so she will understand. Do your duty and she will do hers.”

Jon looked up at him. He did not say anything, but Tyrion saw understanding in his eyes. “Now,” Tyrion stepped passed him, marching toward the unsullied guards with his voice raised for them to hear. “Let us go see her, and may we hope she is in a better mood than she was last night.”

The Unsullied guards stepped aside as Tyrion and Jon approached, allowing her Hand to knock at the door. It was Missandei that answered.

“Lord Tyrion” she smiled down at him before looking up to Jon. “Lord Snow. Come in.”

They followed her into Daenerys’s elaborately decorated guest chambers and Jon closed the door behind them.

“Her grace received a gift from Lady Manderly this morning.” Missandei continued, gesturing toward the window. Tyrion followed her gesture, until his eyes stopped upon what at first glance struck him as a small bear. His face contorted in confusion until the mound of fur turned, revealing the unmistakeable lilac eyes of his queen.

“Your grace” he bowed his head lightly.

“My lords.” Her lips were pulled up in a smirk as she lowered the oversized fur hood, her braided hair falling out from within. She looked breathtaking, and he heard Jon Snow’s shifting movement behind him as they both took in her glow. “I expect this will be a sufficient cover for our journey.”

“Mormount will be pleased to see you’ve adopted his house sigil.” Tyrion smiled at her before turning to Jon. “What do you think?”

Jon looked at her for a moment too long, betraying his affection as he said “You’ll be warm, no doubt.”

She smiled warmly at him and Tyrion felt as if he were interrupting a private moment he was not meant to see.

He watched the two exchange meaningful glances before Daenerys turned away. “The lady sent one for Missandei as well. It will be impossible to tell us apart.” Missandei smiled and nodded, walking across the room to another pile of fur. Daenerys helped her put it on, and then turned toward them, her eyes now crawling up Jon suspiciously. “Was there anything else you wished to discuss before we depart?”

Tyrion cut in before Jon could respond. “Lord Snow simply desired to get on our way as quickly as possible. And I wanted to check in on you. Nothing more.”

“Good.” Daenerys approached them, hands folded together in front of her. “I would hate to delay Lord Snow any longer.”

~~~~~~~~~

They had departed from White Harbor on what Tyrion considered good terms. Jon had been cordial with Wylla, despite the girls increasingly forward advances, and Daenerys had taken the time to apologize for leaving the feast early, thanking Lady Wynafred profusely for her hospitality and the furs.

In the week since, he had grown to dislike the cold more than he’d ever thought possible. “How did you live up here for so long?” He asked Jorah. The men had been forced to ride together, as no carriage was provided to slow down the journey.

“Thicker blood.” The knight replied. “And thicker skin.”

Daenerys surprised him as they made their way to Winterfell. Despite never experiencing a land half as cold as this one, she seemed at home in the snow, blending in even when she removed her fur hood. He imagined her closeness to Jon helped make the cold more bearable.

She passed much of the time asking Jon questions about the Nights Watch and his time beyond the Wall, her growing admiration of the brotherhood becoming increasingly apparent as they traveled. Today she asked him about Lord Commander Mormont, and Jorah had been beckoned to contribute as he saw fit.

“It was an honor to serve him.” Jon looked to Ser Jorah as he spoke. “He was a great man.”

“Aye.” Jorah replied, his emotions betraying him. “I wish he could’ve had a better son.”

Daenerys reached across the space between their horses and took Jorah’s hand. “You have honored him. And you will continue to honor him.”

_The same cannot be said for me_ Tyrion thought to himself.

“Lady Lyanna Mormont is a force.” Jon piped up, trying to lighten the subject. “You will be proud of her.”

Daenerys looked up at Jon expectantly.

“My sister’s daughter.” Jorah replied. “She can’t be more than ten years old.”

“Eleven, I believe. Though you wouldn’t know it.”

“I look forward to seeing her.” Tyrion felt Jorah relax slightly in his saddle.

They had made it well into the mountains, past where the white knife split. They were in Cerywn land now, heading toward the King’s Road where they would reunite with the Dothraki before making it the rest of the way to Winterfell. The chill of the winter winds spiked his face like an arrow.

This night was particularly cold Tyrion thought. And something in a the air left him feeling unsettled.

Jon was working with the soldiers to set up their tents for the night as Daenerys and Missandei spoke with Jorah nearby. They had not run into any trouble as they made their way north yet, but they were well overdue for some human contact.  

Jon claimed that he was unsurprised by the lack of Northerners on their route. The farmers would all be making their way to their lord’s castles to wait out the winter. And the North was a sparsely populated land to begin with.

But it made Tyrion feel uneasy. They’d been through enough farms and small villages that they should’ve seen someone along the way.

He made his way over to Daenerys just as the tents were finished. Tyrion knew Jon and Daenerys had been sharing their bed these nights, but he felt no pressing need to address it. Everyone that traveled with them was aware of the budding relationship between the young rulers, and he was in no position to keep them from some happiness in this cold and depressing land. _Besides,_ he thought, _It is far too late to stop them._

“You should get inside, your grace.” Jon gestured them all toward the tent.

Tyrion paused as he followed, stopping beside Jon. “I may be mad, but I feel as though we are being watched.”

Jon looked out at the hills before answering him. “It’s probably just the wolves.”

“Oh, good.” Tyrion looked out with him “now I feel much safer.” 

Jon gave him a half smile as started toward the tent. 

The men had barely made it a few feet when an arrow pierced the ground in front of them.

“No.” Jon breathed as his eyes shot up toward where Daenerys was still walking with Missandei and Jorah.

It was all a blur from there. More arrows came down around them as Jon sprinted off after Daenerys. Tyrion flung himself out of view behind the nearest rock when he heard it.

“NO!”

He had heard such a sound only once before, as his champion had been brutally killed by the Mountain. He would never forget the chill that ran through him as Ellaria Sand shrieked in horror. And now he heard the sound again, only this time it came from his queen. It could mean only one thing: one of the arrows had not missed.


	9. Daenerys IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience! I know that was a rough cliff hanger to start off the new year and I’m sorry it took me so long to get this chapter to you. I may not respond to most comments, but I very much enjoy reading all of your thoughts and ideas. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!

Jon hit her out of nowhere as arrows began to fall around them.

“Run!” He yelled pulling her with him just behind the tent. She obeyed, turning back to grab Missandei’s hand when she saw the arrow pierce his chest.

“NO!” The sound she made was unrecognizable, as if it was coming from someone other than herself.

Strong arms grabbed onto her, pulling her back to safety, but she fought against them, desperate to get to him.

“Daenerys, no. You can’t.”

Her heart stopped as she watched him collapse before her, just out of reach.

He turned his eyes to look up, reaching out as he spit the blood from his mouth. Her knight. Her friend. Her protector.

The arms held her up, and a voice, rough and familiar, was saying something from behind, but she heard nothing. Her eyes were focused only on Jorah.

He began to crawl toward them and she was released, Jon moving to aid Jorah, pulling him to her as his head collapsed in her lap.

“No.” Her eyes were wells of tears as she stroked his face.

“We should be better at saying farewell by now, my queen.” Jorah tried to smile, but was consumed by a cough of blood in his throat.

“You can’t. You can’t leave me.” She ordered with as much force as she could through her sobs. “You can’t.”

“It has been my greatest honor to serve you.”

“No. Please no. I need you.” Her words caught in her throat through her tears, begging him like she had never begged before.

“No. You... are the strongest... person... I have ever known.” His eyes moved from hers and landed on Jon, kneeling beside them. He took Jon’s hand in his own. “Take.. care of her.”

Jon nodded to him as he placed his other arm around her. “Always.”

Jorah looked back into her eyes and she could see his pain slipping. “Please.” She cried “Please.”

His hand moved to her face, gently caressing her cheek as he breathed his last words. “I love you... Daenerys Stormborn.”

Shock coursed through her as his hand fell from her face, his head falling limp in her lap. The pain was unbearable and she allowed herself to be consumed by it, holding him to her chest, tears washing away the blood.

~~~~~~~~~~~

She had no idea how much times had passed before the Unsullied guards found the men responsible, dragging them before her as she remained on the ground, refusing to let go. Jon stood instead, walking toward them as they knelt, heads pushed down facing the snow.

“Are you Lord Cerwyn’s men?” His voice was like piercing, like ice.

When none answered, Greyworm shoved one of the men forward. The man remained silent, his eyes trained on the ground.

Jon grabbed the man by the collar and lifted him off the ground. “I am your King.” His voice was low, but deadly. “Answer me.”

The man turned his face an spit at the ground. “You are no king of mine.”

Jon dropped the man then, reaching for Longclaw.

“Stop.” She yelled out, her devastation blossoming into fury. She laid Jorah’s head down in the snow and stood, her feet carrying her slowly before the archers.

There were five of them, dressed in armor and thick cloaks. They were knights if she had ever seen them.

“Do you know who I am?” She asked. All of the men, with the exception of the one Jon had threatened raised their eyes to take her in. One of them, a thin man with a gaunt face began to cry. The man beside him swallowed hard and returned his eyes to the ground.

But the man that remained on the ground directly before her remain silent. She knelt down and took his chin in her hand, raising it to look him in the eyes. “Do you know who I am?”

The man resisted looking at her, but she jerked his face so that he had no choice. When their eyes met, she saw his hatred soften. She was certain that she looked pitiful, but her anger fueled her, her eyes burning with hatred far greater than any he could possibly feel toward her.

“I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen.” She whispered so only he could hear. “And you will pay for this. With fire and blood, you will pay.”

She dropped his face and stood. Closing her eyes and reaching out as she had in the great pit of Meereen. _Drogon. I need you._

The sky lit up in a blaze of flames as her dragons soared into view.

The men on the ground look up in horror as Drogon landed behind her, batting the nearby tents off the ground with a flick of his tail. He let out a cry of sorrow, much like the sounds he and Rhaegal made when Viserion was killed. _He knows_ she realized. _He knows he lost a friend._

“Your grace.” Tyrion stepped up beside her then. “We need to question these men. Burning them all alive would...”

“We need to question one of these men, Lord Tyrion.” She looked to each of the men before her, all now baring expressions of terror. “But only one.”

She looked down at the man at her feet, despite all his attempts at defiance, he too was shaking.

“We will only ask you one more time.” She said to him. “If you are not a northerner, then you belong to me, and you will see justice as I see fit.” She turned to Jon, his hand still resting on the hilt of Longclaw. “But if you are a northerner, then Jon Snow is your king. And it is up to him how you will be punished for your crimes.”

Jon looked to her, surprise crossing his face for a brief moment before he stepped forward to stand beside her.

The man did not answer, his gaze remaining firmly toward the ground before him. “Very well.” She replied calmly.

She turned to clear the way for Drogon who was growling behind her when the thin, gaunt man spoke up. “We are Northerners your graces.” He sputtered as he said it, his accent thick and northern, like Jon’s. “Lllord Kkarstark’s men.”

”Lord Karstark is dead.” Jon replied angerly. “And your lady has sworn fealty to House Stark once again.” 

“We fought for Llllord Bolton.” The man mumbled now.

Daenerys turned and looked to Jon, watching as his body tensed with anger. She placed a hand on his arm. “They are yours, your grace.”

She had never referred to him by that title before. He looked up into her eyes for a moment too long and it was almost as if she could read his mind. _Are you sure?_ He was asking her. She nodded to him and turned away, unable to face the men who had killed her knight any longer.

“Do you have any last words?” Jon asked the leader.

“Burn in hell, bastard.” The man muttered.

She expected to hear the swing of Jon’s great sword. The sword that once belonged to Jorah himself. But there was silence.

It was moments later when she heard it. The word she had taught him all those nights ago when she had taught him a few words of Valyrian. 

He said it quietly, with no force behind it, as if he was unsure that it would even work.

“Dracarys.”


	10. Jon III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I’ve continued writing, this has veered away from being exactly what I expect to happen, and more just my mind wandering through fun possibilities. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and we’ll get back on track with real possibilities next chapter.

Jon placed his hand on the hilt of Longclaw, prepared to behead each man before him without hesitation. But as he looked at them anger overwhelmed him. They were Northerners, that much was was true. But they did not deserve an honorable northern death.

Drogon huffed behind him and he turned to look at the dragon. He was the ultimate source of Daenerys’s power. She had taught Jon some of the words she used to command them during their time sailing to White Harbor, but he knew that their connection went far beyond language. Yet as his eyes met Drogon’s a strange sensation overtook him. Longclaw was not sufficient justice for his queen. And it was not sufficient justice for Jorah.

He stepped away from the man, maintaining eye contact with Drogon as he did so. _If I ask, will you obey?_

Drogon moved his head in such a way that made Jon think he understood his question.

Jon looked back to the men on the ground, trembling in the cold. They were traitors. This was what traitors deserved.

“Dracarys.”

Drogon let out a roar as he unleashed his fury upon the Karstark men. The heat incinerated them instantly, leaving behind piles of ash that blew away in the wind, darkening the glistening snow.

Drogon turned back and met his gaze and Jon felt a surge of power overtake him. _Thank you._

He turned back to Daenerys to find shock drawn across her face.

“I’m sorry.” He muttered, looking away. “They didn’t deserve a northern death. It felt like justice.”

Daenerys said nothing, turning back to look at Jorah’s body still resting where she left him in the snow. “There is no justice in this.” She whispered as he watched the tears stream down her cheek.

“Daenerys...” he moved in closer to her, not caring that they were surrounded by her men and advisors.

“We need to burn him.” She turned away, walking toward the body.

Tyrion walked up to stand beside him and both men stood in silence as they watched her. She moved Jorah’s body away from what remained of their tents, pulling him with all her strength. Then she moved to collect the wood that had been gathered for their fires, stacking it into a pyre. Jon moved to help her, aided by Gendry and Greyworm.

After it was done, they lifted the body atop the pyre and Daenerys stepped forward.

Drogon shifted to look at her and she lifted a hand to caress his snout. She muttered something to Drogon in Valyrian and he lay his head down beside Jorah’s body, hissing out a small flame.

They stood in silence as the flames grew higher between them. Jon had seen far too many funerals for someone as young as he was. This one was no different, with the exception of the dragons that remained close at hand. Ser Jorah had earned a eulogy, like the ones said for black brothers lost at the Wall. He looked up to Daenerys and saw her eyes glistening in the flames. She was holding herself composed, but he knew she would not be able to speak. He had not known Ser Jorah well, but that did not matter. He knew enough. He stepped forward, meeting Daenerys’s eyes for a moment before looking into the flames. “Ser Jorah Mormont of Bear Island. A knight of the faith of the seven, hero of the siege of Pyke, and a champion at the fighting pits of Meereen.” Tyrion looked up at him with sad smile. He had recounted the story on their trip to King’s Landing. How Jorah had found his way back into the queen’s good graces, foolishly determined to serve her or die. “He was far more than just a great fighter though. He was a friend, a protector, someone you could count on when you needed him most. He has saved all of our lives countless times and in his memory, we will fight on.” He looked up at Daenerys, but her eyes remained trained on the flames.

She waited a moment and then she began to move. He jumped as she approached the fire, about to yell out for her to stop, but he was too late. She reached down, placing a hand on Jorah’s searing chest.

He stood awestruck as he watched her clothes burn away, skin remaining utterly untouched by the flames. She laid down beside his burning body, head resting against him and closed her eyes as if to sleep.

The Unburnt. That was what Missandei had called her that day on Dragonstone. It was one of so many titles that he had not thought twice about it. But now, as he stood before his queen, watching as she lay engulfed in the flames, he understood.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was startled awake by a cold shiver. He shot up suddenly and his vision focused on a naked body hunched over in a pile of ashes, emitting muffled sobs. Daenerys. He stood quickly, unbalanced from sleep, and pulled off his furs to cover her.

Once she was wrapped in his cloak, he pulled her up, holding her head against his chest. They had all fallen asleep watching the flames, he realized, looking out at Tyrion, Davos, Gendry, Missandei, Greyworm and the rest of the Unsullied asleep on the ground. Drogon and Rhaegal had even stayed, still sleeping nearby. The sight of it made him shiver, and she must’ve felt as she moved to look at him.

He had so much he wanted to say to her, but he was at a loss of where to begin. “I...”

“He listened to you.” She said softly, turning to look at her sleeping dragon. “I expect him not to harm you, but he listened.”

Jon did not know what to say. He was as shocked as she was that the dragon had listened to him. But that seemed far less important than everything else that had happened last night.

“You... you’re alive. Untouched.”

“Unburnt.” She replied, turning back to him. “My children came into this world from my husband’s pyre.” She knelt back down to pick up some of the remaining ashes. “Hen morghon māzigon glaeson. From death comes life.”

He swallowed hard. She had no more dragons eggs. And he doubted Ser Jorah’s death would bring back the one she lost.

She turned back to face him, her expression a mask. “We should not waste anymore time here.”

They rode in silence through the mountains, although he never left her side. Even Tyrion had been at a loss for conversation. They only had a few days left before they would reach Winterfell, yet he could not bring himself to feel excited at the thought of seeing his brother and sisters again.

He did not know how they would react to Daenerys and her armies. He did not even know what they looked like, much less what they had been through in order to get home again after all these years.

He had thought of Arya the most, wondering where she was, what she was doing. Part of him had always held onto hope that she had escaped King’s Landing. But Bran. Bran was supposed to be dead. Theon had not killed his brothers after all, but that did not explain how a crippled boy had survived when Rickon had not. None of them would be the same as they were when he left for the Wall.

And Sansa. He knew she would not be happy with him, but he hoped she would come to understand. He loved her, despite everything, and he wanted nothing more than for them to be a family for however long they had left.

Despite the silence of their travels, he had been staying with Daenerys, laying beside her at night to keep her warm. He had woken often to feel her shaking beside him, only able to calm her when he held her close. But they did not speak, or even meet eyes. Tonight was different. She had asked Tyrion to sit with them, offering him what remained of the wine they had brought with them.

As they sat there, a fire burning in the center of the tent, Daenerys spoke. “We will arrive at Winterfell in two days time, yes?”

Jon and Tyrion exchanged a look before Jon turned to her to answer. “Yes, your grace.”

“Enough with the formalities.” Daenerys stood, walking to face the entrance of the tent. “I need you both to be honest with me.” She turned part way, just enough so she could see them again. “I need you to be Jon and Tyrion. Not lords or hands or kings.”

Both men dropped their heads and she walked toward them again, sitting down with her eyes trained on the fire. She looked different, he thought. No less beautiful, but different. As she sat, her shoulders dropped and she looked less like a queen and more like a women lost. Perhaps that was what she meant, he realized. She didn’t want to be Queen this night. She wanted to just be Daenerys.

They sat in silence for a moment before Tyrion sat up. “Let’s play a game.”

Jon and Daenerys both shot him a look. “I’m serious.” He said looking between them. “You said you did not want Tyrion the Lord or Tyrion the Hand. Strip all that away and this what you are left with. A man with a penchant for wine, women, and games.”

He watched Daenerys’s lips curve into a small smile. The first he had seen since Jorah’s death. “Very well. What game shall we play?”

Tyrion stood, setting his goblet on the ground and moved to fill two more, offering them to Jon and Daenerys. “All the best games require wine in my experience.” He returned to his seat and raised his glass. “My personal favorite is a game of my own creation. I attempted to play this with Missandei and Greyworm once, but it is far less fun when the participates refuse to drink.” He smirked. “It goes like this: I make a statement about your past. If I’m right, you drink. If I’m wrong, I drink.”

Jon scowled at him. “You already know about our pasts.”

“Ah, but I don’t know everything.” Tyrion leaned forward. “I know you’re a bastard who joined the Nights Watch and worked your way up to far greater heights then expected of you. And I know Daenerys was an exiled princess who fought to make a place for herself in this world. But there are many things I do not know. I suspect there are many things you do not even realize yourselves.”

Jon was skeptical, his brow furrowed and his lips pursed. He looked to Daenerys. She leaned back in her seat, eyes trained on the dwarf and sighed. “I suppose if it’s a terrible game, I can always kick you out.”

“Excellent.” Tyrion smiled. “Where should I begin?”

Daenerys and Tyrion both turned to Jon. _Of course,_ he thought. “Fine.” He leaned back, looking away.

“Jon Snow. Son of Ned Stark but not Catelyn Tully. I spent a good deal of time with Lady Stark. Strong woman, without a doubt. I imagine she was dreadful to you.” Jon drank. “And your siblings. You were close to some of them, but not all. The oldest, Robb. He was your best friend, the one you would’ve missed the most.” _No._

Jon looked Tyrion dead in the eyes. “Drink.” Tyrion was half right. Robb had been his best friend. But he was not the sibling he was closest to. Not the one he had missed the most.

Tyrion drank deeply, but looked back to him surprised. “Not Robb? Interesting.”

Jon looked into the fire. “Arya.” He whispered to himself.

“Arya?” Tyrion sat up. “The wild one?”

Jon smiled. “Aye, I suppose.” He felt Daenerys’s eyes upon him, but he could not look up to meet her gaze. He took another sip of the wine and leaned forward to look into the flames. Would she still be willful and wild as she was last he saw her? He imagined she must be, if she had survived all this time on her own.

Daenerys stood suddenly, drawing his focus away from the fire. “I am feeling rather tired.” She looked to Tyrion. “Perhaps we can finish this game another time.” Tyrion smiled knowingly and finished his wine in one large gulp.

“Of course.” He stood, bowed, and exited the tent leaving Jon and Daenerys alone once again.

Jon stood and approached her, taking in her beautiful amethyst eyes. After a moment, she reached out for him, placing a hand on his chest, still standing apart. “Thank you, Jon.”

He looked back at her, puzzled. “For what?”

“For being here, even when I was not.” She moved to close the distance between them. “For knowing what I needed.”

He wrapped his arms around her, kissing the top of her head. A memory of Ygritte flooded him then. He could no longer see her face, only the red hair and freckles he knew had once resided there. _You know nothing, Jon Snow._ That was what she always said. _No._ He thought. _I do know some things._

She stepped back and looked at him for a moment, her eyes soft and wide. Then she took his hand and turned toward the bed, guiding him to follow. She sat down on the edge and he knelt before her, cradling her face his hands.

“I love you, Daenerys.” He whispered as he kissed her, long and deep. She pulled him up, falling back onto the bed as he pressed down on top of her. She broke their kiss then, caressing his face and gazing up into his eyes as she had the first night they spent together on the ship.

“I love you, Jon Snow.”


	11. Arya I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the long wait on getting this next chapter to you. This is a big one, and I hope I was able to capture Arya properly. 
> 
> Thank you all again for the support. Writing and reading all of the other wonderful fics on here has been sustaining me during this dreadfully long wait for season 8. Thank you for your inspiration!

The wind whipped her face as she stood atop the walls of Winterfell, looking out at the vast white expanse that was the North. She could not recall the last true winter, for she had been but a babe when it ended. It was one of the many things about coming home that felt unfamiliar. The walls were the same, but the people that had made it home were all dead and gone.

She heard the whisps of her sister’s cloak before she spoke.

“Jon should be back soon.” Sansa stopped and looked out beside her.

“Do you think we’ll see the dragons first?” Arya had dreamt of being a dragon rider for as long as she could remember. She wanted to be a great warrior queen like Visenya Targaryen. Now there was new Targaryen queen with dragons of her own and Jon was bringing her with him. No matter what her sister thought, Arya was excited.

“Maybe.” Sansa responded, visibly tensing beside her. Sansa had been on edge ever since Jon’s raven had arrived with the news. She had been angry at first, hurt that Jon would’ve made such an important decision without her input, but now she had settled into a permanent state of stress and apprehension. Arya could not help but find it amusing. Jon would not bring Daenerys back if he thought her a threat Arya had told her. He would never put them all at risk. But Sansa was less confident. There was something she was still hiding from her, and Arya could not help but feel it had to do with Petyr Baelish.

Sansa was coming to Arya when she needed help or just wanted someone to talk to now, but Arya knew it was not the same. Littlefinger was cunning and manipulative, whereas Arya preferred to get straight to the point. Nevertheless, their relationship was improving. It would take time, and theirs had never been a loving sisterly bond, but she no longer felt that Sansa mistrusted her.

And yet...

“You’re still anxious.” Arya stated, turning to look at her sister beside her.

Sansa met her gaze. “And you’re not?”

Arya shrugged. “I suppose I have more to be excited about than you do.”

Sansa turned back to look out over the wall. They stood in silence for a few moments before Sansa spoke again. “He’s much the same as he was before.”

Arya spun her head, intrigued.

“He still sulks too often for his own good.” Sansa smiled down at her as she said it. Arya could not help but do the same.

Sansa turned completely then, facing her. “I have to get back to work. Don’t stay out here too long waiting.”

Arya nodded to her sister and then turned away. She’d endured far worse than wind and snow in the years that had passed since she last left home, but she knew Sansa was right. Once darkness fell upon the castle, she would not be able to see Jon even if he did appear on the horizon.

“Soon” She whispered, her hand tightening on Needle’s hilt. “Be home soon.”

Arya did not sleep well that night. Her heart raced anxiously and her mind worked furiously. After hours of restlessness, she gave up attempting to rest and took to walking about the castle, exploring the old towers and ruins that remained.

She went to her old room first. It was empty now, but she remembered it exactly as it was. Jon had given her Needle in this room. _First lesson. Stick them with the pointy end._ She’d followed that advice more times then she could count now.

Jon had been sad that day. She remembered his face when he came to her. She tried to show him how she’d trained Nymeria to help her pack, but Nymeria had been stubborn. Normally Jon would’ve laughed at her, but he had not. _He knew then_ , she thought. _He knew he may never see me again, even if I was too young to realize it myself._

She continued wandering the long halls until she stopped outside another room long forgotten. Jon’s old room. It was smaller than the others, but it looked out over the Godswood. Arya liked to come and sit with him after Septa Mordane scolded her. He would always ruffle her hair and laugh at her. They were both the outsiders of the family, he the bastard and she the wild one.

Jon was her half-brother, as Sansa had constantly reminded everyone, but he was more family to her than all the rest. They shared the Stark features while the others were more Tully. He understood her when no one else could. _Will he still understand?_ After everything she had been through, all the things she had done. So many years had passed since they last sat on this window sill together. So much had changed.

She heard the door move slightly and she spun around, a great white beast now standing before her. “Hello Ghost.” She smiled at the direwolf. He was taller than her now and positively massive, but he still moved silently through the halls of Winterfell. He licked her face as she brushed her hand through his thick fur. “He’ll be home soon boy. I promise.”

Ghost had spent a great deal of time following Arya around since she insisted he be let out of the kennels. He was the last wolf that remained, aside from her own Nymeria. But she was gone now, wild and free with a family all her own. It seemed ironic that the last remaining direwolf left to protect the Stark family belonged to the one child who did not call himself a Stark. _Fitting_ she thought. _Mother would be furious._

She moved to lay down on Jon’s old bed. At one time Ghost would’ve fit beside her, but no more. Instead the direwolf lay next to her, moaning softly. “Soon, boy. Soon.” She rested her head on the pillow and soon found herself drifting off into a comfortable sleep.

~~~~~~~~~

She woke hours later to Ghost’s claws on her face. “Ow” She frowned, swatting at his oversized paw. “Get off Ghost.” The wolf retreated and paced the room. She sat up suddenly, looking out to see the sun in it’s midday position. “Shit.” She muttered, pulling herself off the bed and opening the door. Ghost followed her as she made her way through the tower’s winding halls.

“There you are.” It was Brienne of Tarth and her squire, Podrick. “Lady Stark has been looking for you for hours.”

“I fell asleep.”

“Not in your room, you didn’t.” Brienne gestured for her to follow. “Come. Your brother is almost here.”

“He is?” She almost didn’t believe her.

“Yes, the scouts saw them on the southern hills. Lady Sansa wants...”

Arya sprinted past Brienne, pushing Podrick out of the way as she turned the corner. Ghost followed behind her.

“Lady Arya!” Brienne called after her, but Arya did not stop. Jon was home. Nothing else mattered.

As soon as she hit fresh air she slowed, Ghost still walking along beside her as she made her way down the long walkway above the courtyard.

Sansa stood in the center of the courtyard below with Bran in his wheelchair beside her. The rest of the lords and servants were gathered along the walls. She knew she should go stand beside her siblings, but she found herself frozen where she was, wanting to observe all those who had come to see their king home.

The guard atop the tower blew the horn signaling the opening of the gates. Her heart stopped. Jon rode in a beautiful black stallion, his shoulders wrapped in a fur cloak just like the one father used to wear. Beside him rode another, a woman. Daenerys Targaryen. _The dragon queen._  The rumors were true, she was breathtaking. She was everything Arya had imagined Aegon’s queens to be. Her silver hair was tied back in a long, elaborate braid and her light eyes and pale skin were accentuated but the white furs she wore as a coat. Arya watched as Jon lifted her down from her horse. She was tiny. Small but powerful. _Like me._  

She watched as Jon and Daenerys walked together to Sansa and Bran. There was a comfort between them that Arya had not expected. Allies did not help each other gracefully off of their horses, nor did they share quick smiles before walking together as equals. Was this what Sansa had been hiding from her? Did she know something more?

Jon knelt before Bran, breathing out his name, and hugged him before standing and kissing Sansa’s head. She saw his eyes wander then and she knew he was searching for her. Her feet began to move toward the stairs, but her eyes never left him. He looked older, his face covered in scars, and his hair pulled back like father. She pushed her way through the servants and down the steps when his eyes finally met hers. They both stopped, taking each other in. Then he smiled. It was a smile so big that she thought her heart might burst.

Then she was running, her feet carrying her until she lept up into his waiting arms.

He held her there, swaying lightly as he squeezed her body. “Arya.” His voice cracked on her name.

He set her down and she saw tears pooling in his eyes. He sighed heavily, joy and relief clear in his face. He was home. They all were home.

_The lone wolf may die_ she thought. _But the pack will survive._  


	12. Jon IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunions, revelations, and Rhaegal. That pretty much it all up this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been envisioning this chapter in my head since watching the finale of season 7, and I worry that was not able to do it justice. But, as always, I love to hear your feedback and I’d also love to hear how you want Jon to find out who he truly is. How do you see it all going down? I hope you enjoy!

  
She was real. Bran was real. It wasn’t a dream or a hope or a prayer. As his arms tightened around her body, he felt tears welling up in his eyes. “Arya.”

She had grown, but she was still small, smaller even than Daenerys. He set her down and looked at her again, his smile returning as he noticed the sword at her hip. “You managed to keep it? All this time?”

Arya looked down at the hilt of her sword. Then looked up at him and smiled. “Not all this time. But Needle found its way home too.” They held each other’s gaze for a moment before Arya looked past him. _Daenerys._

He turned them and looked back at his queen. She stood patiently behind him, a small smile on her lips as she watched him with his family. He turned back to his siblings. “Arya, Sansa, Bran. This is Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen.”

Daenerys stepped forward. “It is an honor to meet you my ladies, my lord.”

Bran and Arya both nodded their heads in respect, but Sansa stood stoic for a moment as Jon watched her eyes search Daenerys. Then she curtsied. “Welcome to Winterfell your Grace.”

Sansa’s eyes returned to Jon then and he could feel her anger. He had done what he said he would do, but he had not consulted her on the cost and for that he would not easily be forgiven. It was one conversation he was not looking forward to having, but he knew it would come as soon as Daenerys was out of earshot.

“Gendry?!” Jon whipped his head around to see Arya staring, stone-faced at the blacksmith who had arrived behind them.

“M’lady.” He replied, bowing his head to her. She walked over to him, her face a picture of disbelief.

“You’re alive.”

“Seems that way, dunnit?” Gendry smiled at her. “It’s good to see you.”

Jon was confused. How did Arya and Gendry know one another? He had been a blacksmith in King’s Landing and she... well, he didn’t actually know where she had been all this time.

“And _you._ ” She turned to the Hound. “I left you for dead.”

“Aye. You bloody did.” The Hound smiled too. “Tough as balls you are, girl. Thought for sure some cunt would’ve run you through without me.”

Arya turned back and looked at Jon. “Why are they here?”

He was struck dumb for a moment, unsure how to answer.

“It’s a long story, milady” Gendry piped in.

Arya stepped forward and pushed him. “I told you not to call me ‘milady’”

He fell back and laughed. “You haven’t changed a bit, _milady_.”

Arya scowled, and Jon turned back to Sansa and Bran. Sansa’s face was a mirror of his own confusion, but Bran looked stoic.

“Jon.” He said, staring beyond him. “Will you come with me? There is something I need to talk to you about.”

“Of course, Bran.” Jon said. Bran had grown so much. He was a man now. But there was something off about him. He was distant, almost inhuman. He looked up to Sansa and she nodded, as if to confirm his concern. “Can it wait until we’ve gotten settled?”

“No.” Jon looked up and his eyes fell upon a large man who’s voice Jon had not heard for a long time.

“Sam?”

“Jon.” Sam smiled kindly. “It’s good to see you.”

Jon went to Sam and hugged him. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in Oldtown. Where is Gilly?”

Sam sighed. “I was in Oldtown. But I left. I want to be useful in this war. I want to help you. Gilly is here too. And baby Sam.”

Jon put his hand on Sam’s shoulder and smiled. His family really was together again, both his blood and his brothers.

Sam’s face turned serious then and he looked to Bran. “What Bran has to tell you cannot wait, Jon. It’s too important.”

He turned back, his eyes meeting Daenerys’s. “If it has to do with the war, then the queen should join us, as well as our councils.”

“No.” It was Bran again, his eyes finally lifting and meeting Jon’s.

“Jon..” Sam placed his hand on Jon’s shoulder. “We need to talk to you alone first.” Jon spun around. He wanted to argue that there was nothing so important that his family and his queen should not be included, but the look in Sam’s eyes stopped him.

“Alright.” He gulped. “Sansa...”

Sansa took her cue immediately. “If you’ll follow me your grace.”

Daenerys looked to him one last time, her eyes wide with curiosity, before following Sansa inside the castle.

“Alright.” Jon looked between Bran and Sam. “What is it?”

“Perhaps we should go somewhere more private?” Sam looked to be asking Bran.

Bran nodded and Sam took hold of his wheelchair. They set off toward the Godswood and Jon followed behind.

“Sam.” Jon was equal parts annoyed and confused. What could be so important that Bran and Sam could not wait? And why were Bran and Sam the only two people who were allowed to know?

“Yes?”

“What is going on?”

Sam sighed as he pushed Bran through the entrance of the Godswood. “I imagine you have a lot of questions. But Bran is better suited to answer them than I am.”

Jon looked down at Bran who continued to look ahead. “I am the three-eyed raven now.” His voice was void of all emotion.

“The what?”

“Bran can... see things. He has visions of the past.”

“I’m also a warg.” Bran’s voice remained stoic. “I used to live through Summer. Now I use ravens.”

“That’s how you knew where the walker’s were headed?” Jon asked, trying to process what he had just been told.

“Yes.” Bran said. “And how I know who your mother is.”

_My mother_. That was the last thing Jon had expected to hear. 

Sam looked solemn. “Please sit Jon.”

~~~~~~~

Jon sat, too shocked to move. As a child he had dreamed of his mother countless times, imagining who she might be. When he was young he would picture a beautiful high born lady. He’d heard whispers that she may have been Ashara Dayne, sister of the Sword of The Morning. That had thrilled him, until he heard what had happened to her.

As he grew older, he realized that more likely than not he was the son of some tavern wench or whore that his father had fallen upon in a moment of weakness. If she was alive, she did not care about him.

But this. This was something he had never expected.

“Jon,” Bran had begun. “Your mother was not a whore, or a tavern wench, or a maid. She was my aunt, Lyanna Stark.”

As the words sank in, his heart raced. “I... but that’s not... Ned Stark is my...”

“Ned Stark is not your father.” Bran continued. “Lyanna made him promise to protect you, and so he lied, calling you his own.”

The words pierced his chest like the knives of his brothers. He was not Lord Stark’s son. His whole life he had been proud to be the son of such a man. It defined him.

And if that were true, then who was his father?

It dawned on him then, and he turned quickly to Sam. “No.”

Sam’s faces dropped as he acknowledged the truth Jon had come to. “Yes, Jon.”

“But that means...”

“You are the son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen.” Bran finished. “And more than that, you are not a bastard.”

He shot up, anger filling him. “What do you mean I’m not a bastard?” He spat. “He kidnapped her. He raped her. The whole bloody war was started because...”

“No.” Sam spoke then. “No, that’s not true. When I was at the Citadel I transcribed the High Septon’s journals. In it, he wrote that he had annulled Rhaegar’s marriage to Princess Elia and married him to another in a secret ceremony in Dorne.”

“I saw it, Jon.” Bran’s voice was calm. “He did not kidnap her, or rape her. He loved her and she loved him. She named you Aegon Targaryen. You are the true born son of the Prince of the Dragonstone...”

The words echoed in his head, too unbelievable to be true. “...and the rightful heir to the Iron Throne.”

His vision went blurry then as a thousand thoughts coursed through his brain. I can’t be. _All this time. No. Honorable Ned Stark. Lyanna. My mother._

As his confusion turned to anger he felt a pulsing in his veins, the same sensation he felt when Drogon had burned the Bolton men.

It couldn’t be true. He was Ned Stark’s son. Bran and Arya and Sansa, Robb and Rickon. They were his siblings. He was a bastard. That had been his life. His curse.

The roar of the dragons was heard above as Drogon and Rhaegal soared into view. Then it dawned on him.

_Daenerys._

This would mean she was not just his lover, but his blood. _His aunt._

_”_ Jon.” He looked up, pulling away from the swarm of thoughts in his head. “There’s more. The wall has fallen. The Night King raised the dragon that fell beyond the Wall. The army of the dead is on it’s way.” 

His shock turned to fear and anger as Sam whipped around and stared at Bran as well. “What? You never told me...”

”No.” Jon breathed. It was too much. As if the revelation of his parentage was not enough to utterly consume him, now all of their plans to defend the Wall were for naught. The Night King has her dragon. They were doomed. 

His legs carried him. Where he did not know. His mind was swirling, his vision blurry. He pushed his way through the gates of the Godswood, running as he escaped the confines of Winterfell. Someone called after him, but he did not hear, he could not listen. There was only one way to know if this was true. One way to confirm it all.

Then he saw him. The great green dragon, resting on the hills outside the castle.

_“I named them after my brothers, Viserys and Rhaegar.”_ She had said. _“They’re both gone now.”_

_Rhaegar._

He walked over to the dragon, eyes trained on his. He was smaller than Drogon, but no less fierce. _If this is true, if I am truly Rhaegar’s son..._

He reached out his hand, as he had once before with Drogon on Dragonstone. Rhaegal snorted, and then pushed his snout into Jon’s hand affectionately.

Jon moved closer, slowly, as Rhaegal’s eyes followed his. _May I?_

Rhaegal lifted his head, turning back to his shoulder, answering Jon’s question. Drogon roared above them as he circled the sky. Jon followed Rhaegal’s gesture and climbed onto his shoulder. Then Rhaegal jerked him up suddenly, Jon losing his balance for a moment before landing against the Dragon’s back. Rhaegal snorted lightly, almost as if to laugh at him and curved his spine so that Jon knew where to go. He draped his legs across the green scales and positioned his hands on the protruding back bones he had seen Daenerys use before.

Then they were flying. It was a sensation unlike anything he had ever experienced. The rush of adrenaline wiped away his anger as he soared over the castle he called home. He was a Stark. He had always been a Stark.

But he was also a dragon.

The weight of it came crushing down on him once again. What would Daenerys think? She believed herself to be the last Targaryen and the heir to the throne. Would she hate him?

And if she didn’t, would that make it worse? He was her nephew. What they had done... it was wrong. Even if the Targaryen’s had married brother and sister for generations, half of them had gone mad.

But he loved her. He would not be able to stop loving her now, not after everything...

~~~~~~~

Time passed slowly as they flew through the air. He allowed himself to be consumed by it, freeing himself from his pain and confusion, to become one with the creature he was riding.

Rhaegal dipped low above the castle, landing once again outside the castle walls.

Then he saw her. Her eyes wide with shock and confusion. As she walked toward him, he pushed himself off of the dragons back and collapsed into the snow, allowing the reality of these revelations to overtake him once again.

His vision went black as he felt her arms close around him, and all was silent.


	13. Sansa I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello fellow Jonerys shippers. I want to thank you all for your support and your insightful comments last chapter. I loved reading them all. 
> 
> I also want to apologize for how long this last update has taken. It’s been a trying week in my personal life, and it’s been a real struggle to write. As a result, this chapter did not get the love and attention I might’ve liked, but I hope you will still enjoy. As always, I love to hear your thoughts and comments. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

She had done her duty as a host and shown Daenerys Targaryen to her guest quarters, but little else had been exchanged. She was beautiful, just as Lord Baelish had said, and Jon’s affection for her had not gone unnoticed.

She had much to discuss with her brother, but she had allowed Bran to steal him away. Bran had been even more distant than usual in recent weeks, a development that left her in a constant state of unease. He had holed himself away, spending almost all of his time in the Godswood or in the library with Samwell Tarly.

She felt certain that they had discovered something, but what she couldn’t understand was why she wasn’t allowed to know. She was a Stark. She had been ruling the north for months while Jon parlayed with the southern queens. She did not want to plot behind her brothers backs, but if she had to, she would.

She strolled from the castle, making her way out across the walls of Winterfell when she heard a noise unlike anything she had ever heard before. She spun around and watched as two winged beasts flew above the castle. _The dragons._

“Beautiful creatures, aren’t they?” Her ears perked up at the familiar voice, one she had not heard in many years. She turned and looked down at Tyrion Lannister.

“My lord.” She nodded to him cordially, noting his warm expression.

“Tyrion, Sansa. My name is Tyrion.”

She couldn’t help but smile. He had said that to her once before, on their wedding night. She had been so terrified then, but had been kind to her, kinder than anyone else had been in her time in King’s Landing.

“Tyrion.” She nodded, allowing Tyrion to walk beside her as she made her way up the stairs along the outer wall of the castle.

“It is good to see you my lady, truly. Our marriage may have been a sham, but my affection for you was not. I was quite relieved when I heard you made it home again.”

Her mind wandered to the pain she had suffered here at the hands of the Bolton’s. She tried to push it aside, but the scars still haunted her. “Thank you.” She muttered.

He looked up at her sadly. “I’m sorry for what happened to you.”

She looked to him, surprised. His eyes betrayed his sadness.

She turned then as they looked down over the courtyard below. The Hound was there, moving crates of dragon glass into the armory.

“It’s a pity.” Tyrion said, looking out at the Hound. “Somehow, the old monsters that used to haunt you have managed to follow you back home.”

He was wrong, she thought. The Hound had offered to protect her once, to bring her home. But she had been stupid and fearful.

“No.” She said, turning to him. “The monsters were waiting for me when I returned.”

His face looked grave with understanding. As she turned away to continue up the wall, he followed. “If I may, my lady, I was told that Littlefinger and the Knights of the Vale had declared for House Stark. I expected to see him here.”

“Lord Baelish is dead.” She said matter-of-factly.

He seemed taken aback momentarily before regaining his composure. “I see. Might I ask what happened to him?”

Sansa stopped again, looking out over the vast snow covered lands of the North where the Unsullied and the Dothraki armies were now making camp outside the walls. She looked down at Tyrion, her eyes walls of stone.

“He was executed for treason.” She said simply.

Tyrion looked up at her with a look that she could almost take for pride. Last time he saw her she was but a silly girl. She was a woman now, and she knew he would notice how much she had changed.

“I see some good may have come from your time with my sister after all.”

“My lord?”

“I told your brother you were much smarter than you let on. I meant it. And you’ve had some of the best political teachers one could have.” He smiled at her, but it was not without a hint of caution. “I have little doubt it is you we should all be fearing today.”

She was not sure if he meant that as a compliment, but she did not have the time to retort as the dragons flew down low over the castle once again.

She stared up in wonder as the creatures roared overhead. They were terrifying, that was true, but there was something majestic about them as well. Sansa fell on her knees to avoid the great gust of wind that followed behind as the green dragon landed just beyond the castle walls.

Tyrion offered her his hand then. “They’re intelligent creatures. They can sense a friend from a foe...”

She was only half listening to him, her eyes trained on the dragon below. As she watched she noticed another figure, a man, climbing down from its back.

“...allowed me to unchain them, but their mother is the only one who could ever...” Tyrion must’ve noticed it too, as he stopped talking and turned to watch the scene unfold below them.

_It was Jon._ He stepped down from the dragon as Daenerys approached from afar. Both dragons continued to roar around them, but as Jon touched the ground again, both he and Daenerys stopped, making eye contact. _What is he doing?_

Then he fell to his knees, collapsing to the snow and she watched as the queen raced toward him. Sansa turned on her heels and rushed down the stairs to the courtyard, with Tyrion following quickly behind her.

Jon had flown on one of dragons and lived. _But how? And perhaps more importantly, why?_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Did you see...” Arya was there, running up beside her as she pushed past the guards and out behind the castle walls.

Jon was still on the ground, the queen kneeling down before him.

Sansa looked to Arya and Tyrion before slowly moving forward. The dragons were still there, and they were growling over their mother protectively.

She saw Daenerys take Jon’s face in her hands, and she could not help but feel as though she was intruding on a moment far too intimate for her eyes. Jon looked up at her and then his eyes moved away, meeting her own.

He looked between herself and Arya and then back to Daenerys, nodding his head to signify that he was ok. He stood then and Daenerys followed suit, turning back to them.

He walked forward, Daenerys following alongside, glancing cautiously at him as they approached. The dragons pushed off the ground and made their way back to the sky above the castle, but this time Sansa did not bother to watch. Her eyes remained pinned to her brother before her. She needed answers. They all did.

“Jon...” she questioned.

Samwell Tarly appeared at the gate then, pushing Bran in his wheelchair. Jon looked to them, his expression pained.

“What did they tell you?”

Jon sighed deeply, looking at the ground. “They told me the truth.”

“What truth?” This time it was Arya that cut in.

Sansa watched as Daenerys grabbed ahold of Jon’s arm, his eyes meeting hers. “The truth about who I am. Who my mother was.” He looked back to the ground before he finished. “And my father.”

_His father._

“What about our father?” Arya spat. “You’re our brother. Ned Stark is your...”

Jon’s eyes remained trained on the ground. He could not answer, and that was answer enough.

“But if not Lord Eddard...” Tyrion proceeded, then he stopped. She watched as realization poured over him.

“Who then?” She pressed. “I don’t understand. You’re a Stark.”

“Yes he is.” Tyrion looked up at Jon and smiled sadly. “But not from your father. Incredible. How did we not realize...”

“What is going on?” Daenerys cut him off then, her tone inpatient.

Jon lifted his head and looked at Bran and they all followed suit.

“Jon is the son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen.” He said. Her heart sank. “They married in a secret ceremony in Dorne. Our father found her as she lay dying from childbirth and she made him promise to protect Jon. He took the secret to the grave.”

Daenerys dropped her hands from Jon’s arm then as they all turned back to face him. No one spoke for a moment, too shocked to respond.

“You’re our... cousin?” Arya said, the disbelief clear in her voice.

“Aye.” He muttered, then he turned his head up to Daenerys, still unable to look her in the eyes. “And your nephew.”

Sansa could not read the expression on the queen’s face. She did not appear angry, instead her face was a mixture of shock and disbelief.

“But there are more important issues at hand.” Jon looked up finally and faced her, his voice regaining some strength. “The wall has fallen. The Night King has reanimated the dragon and the army of the dead are marching on the North as we speak.”

“No” Sansa gasped, feeling Arya tense beside her. She turned to face Bran. “You knew? You knew and you didn’t tell me?” She felt her anger boiling up inside her. He had no right to keep this from her. She could’ve started preparing. She needed this time.

Bran said nothing, remaining emotionless and stoic as always. It infuriated her. Where was the loveable little brother she had once known? Where was Bran?

“Summon the lords.” Jon said, moving to reenter the castle walls. “I’ve waited long enough to address them.”

Daenerys paused. “Jon...”

He turned to her as they all filed past. She could hear the pain in his voice as he whispered “I’m so sorry.” Then he turned to walk past them all, hurrying back inside.

Sansa turned and looked back at Daenerys. She did not know this queen, and she did not trust her, but she knew heartbreak when she saw it, and the pained expression on Daenerys’s face nearly broke her.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Sansa sat beside Jon in the great hall. Bran was to her left and Arya standing beside him. To his right sat Daenerys. Her expression was composed now, needing to appear strong before the Northern lords.

She had no idea how this was going to go and what Jon would tell the northern lords. The news of his parentage shook her, but he was right. That did not matter now. It did not change the man he was, the brother he had always been, and the king they needed him to be.

“My lords. My ladies.” Jon stood, and the hall fell silent. “When I went south I went with a purpose. To bring back dragon glass to forge it into weapons and to ask for the help of the dragon queen.” He looked to Daenerys. “I return to you with both.”

“She’s a Targaryen!” One of the men called out as the hall grew tense with anger.

“She can’t be trusted!”

“Have you forgotten what happened to your grandfather and Uncle?”

“You dare bring her here? To our home?”

“Enough!” Jon yelled over them all, effectively silencing the hall. It occurred to her then, how this must feel for him. They hated the Targaryens, and he was one. She had wondered if he would tell his lord the truth today, but now she knew he would not. They would curse him, and he could not lose them now.

“I know you do not trust her.” She heard the pain in his voice, but he masked it well. “I didn’t either when we first met. But she has proven to me that she will make a great queen, and she has promised to fight alongside us, with her armies and her dragons, to defeat the army that is at our gates.”

“Your grace,” Lyanna Mormont stepped forward then, turning to look up at Jon. “House Mormont will always stand beside House Stark. But I must ask you: how can you bring this upon us? How can you ask us to trust... her?”

Jon opened his mouth to begin but was silenced as Daenerys beat him to it, her voice was soft, almost sad. Sansa whipped her head around to look at her. “You are Lady Lyanna Mormont, yes?”

Lyanna seemed taken aback. “...yes.”

Daenerys stood, and went out from around the table. The room stood frozen in shock.

“Your uncle, Ser Jorah, served as my advisor and friend for many years in Essos.” Daenerys approached the girl and Sansa watched as the men around Lyanna reached for their swords. Lyanna put up a hand to stop them.

“Ser Jorah disgraced my family.” Lyanna muttered.

“Yes.” Daenerys said softly. “He did many things that he regretted.” Daenerys reached out, hesitantly toward Lyanna’s face. The girl allowed it, a shocked expression settling on her young features. “You look so like him my lady.”

Sansa was shocked to hear the crack in the queen’s voice. But then Daenerys pulled her hand back and regained her composure, addressing the room again. “Ser Jorah was my most trusted advisor and my best friend. He died bringing me here, to his home, to protect it from the monsters that would see it destroyed.”

Daenerys turned to face the Stark’s then. Her eyes fell upon Sansa. “I am not here to conquer the north. I am here to save it. I offer you my armies and my children for that purpose. In time, I hope you will come to understand that I am not my father. For now, all I can do is ask your forgiveness for the crimes he committed against your family.” She turned back to face the rest of the lords of the north. “He was an evil man. I will not defend him. All I ask is that you allow me to help defend you.”

There was a mutter across the hall. Jon silenced it as he continued. “My lords, we don’t have time to argue over this anymore. The wall has fallen.” Everyone in the hall gasped. Sansa noticed Daenerys return to her seat beside Jon.

“No!”

“That’s impossible!”

“I have seen it.” It was the first time Bran had spoken since announcing the truth of Jon’s parentage. “The Night King rides on a fallen dragon. The Army of the dead is on the march.” 


End file.
